


Let the cold leach from my bones

by sp1lt_1nk



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Couch Cuddles, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Martin Blackwood Needs a Hug, Minor Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, POV Martin Blackwood, References to Depression, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Tea, The Lonely - Freeform, depressed Martin Blackwood, hot water burns, not on purpose, tea is good at 4AM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:14:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24324118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sp1lt_1nk/pseuds/sp1lt_1nk
Summary: After pulling Martin from The Lonley and find the safehouse in Scottland, Martin needs some love
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 3
Kudos: 62





	Let the cold leach from my bones

**Author's Note:**

> I'm only on ep 147 so pls don't hate if I have some of it wrong but im projecting onto post-Lonley martin here. TW for general depression symptoms such as insomnia, sleeping too much, loss of appetite (or sleeping through meals) risky behaviour, anger, and feelings of despair. 
> 
> stay safe pals!

Every day seemed like a bad day. Back before everything had gone to shit, he’d have “bad days” once a week at most. But now, as he sat in the sorry excuse for a kitchen, Martin realized just how bad it was. 

At first, it had just been oversleeping, or sometimes not sleeping at all. Jon had made a few comments about it when Martin had slept through breakfast… and then a few days later had slept through lunch. He’d simply passed it off as his sleep schedule falling out of wack. On the nights he couldn’t sleep he bounced around from distraction to distraction. He couldn't sit still or stay focused on one task for too long before the feeling of The Lonely’s cold icy fingers were tugging him back towards the damp cold shore. 

Hand in hand came the weight loss. During the six months of gradually being groomed into a perfect recipient for The Lonely, Martin rarely left his apartment or the institute. He’d gone to the shop only when he’d run out of tea, and then the meagre instant coffee he’d had in his apartment. It all tasted the same anyway. He’d never been the smallest person; his hight by nature made him heavier than the average person. He’d never liked sports and with his mother having been so ill, he didn’t get out much in his early adulthood. Now though, he started to rival Jon. He’d lost muscle first, the irritating soft layer he’d never been able to shed still insulating him; it still did nothing for the cold. However, since sleeping through two meals a day, the soft layer was starting to get smaller.

This Jon had noticed. More than the sleeping, more than the constantly cold finger or his attempts at keeping up light conversation. Of course Jon noticed the weight loss, perhaps the only good thing to come of the whole situation. 

The nights had been the worst in the beginning. Martin had been terrified that if he fell asleep he would only wake up again on the beach or, lord forbid, the ship. Over a few weeks though, it proved that waking up and finding no relief from the constant aching sold and emptiness in his chest was much worse. 

It was four in the morning when Jon walked in on him making his third cup of tea that morning. His hands were shaking so bad that hot water from the kettle scalded his fingers. It burned more than it should have since the rest of him felt already freezing. 

“Martin- _christ_ it’s-” Jon looked a the broken clock on the stove and groaned. It defiantly wasn’t 12:21. “It’s late Martin.”

How was he supposed to reply to that? ' _yeah I know_ ' didn’t seem to cut it. All of the numbness and despair in his chest seemed to be forcing its way up into his throat and choking off whatever reply he was forming. As Jon came closer Martin turned away from him, busying himself with bashing the teabag in his mug around and around. There was no satisfaction in watching the tea slowly diffuse into the hot water anymore. He winced when his spoon collided with the side of the mug in a grinding scritching sound.  
Jon tried again to get in his line of sight but Martin was adept at hiding from sight. “Martin, come to bed. Even if you don't sleep you can-”

“I can what? Wake you up again when I have a nightmare?” he snapped. It was harsher than he’d meant and Jon only stepped in closer despite the tone.

“I don't care. I don't need it.”

Martin’s mouth hung open before he snapped it shut and began to go through the jerky motions of finishing his cup of tea. He added too much milk and the cup sloshed as he brought it up to his lips, the hot water barely cooled. It burned his lips and left them tingling, the roof of his mouth felt like heavy grit sandpaper. 

At least he felt it. The mug was too hot to be holding it by the sides, but he only tightened his grip, trying to feel the burning heat in his bones as he squeezed the mug as tight as he could. 

The tightness in his throat was back and he couldn’t make himself look at Jon, because Jon looked at him like he was worth something. 

Jon tried to take the mug out of Martin’s hands but hissed as his finger made contact with the deathly cold skin of Martin’s hands. 

“Your hands are cold again,” he muttered, sandwiching Martin’s hands between the burning hot mug and Jon’s equally hot hands. 

Martin managed to let out a watery chuckled at that. “They’re always cold,” he choked out. 

With his hands firmly grasped by Jon, The Archivist gently pulled him towards the ratty couch. They paused for Jon to pry the mug out of his hands when more scalding hot tea managed to burn them both and Jon had to stick his thumb in his mouth to cool it off. 

The space heater was flicked on and then Martin was swamped in blankets on the couch and then, after multiple promises to be right back, Jon piled on another two from the bedroom they now shared. 

Jon was wearing one of Martin’s jumpers, its hem coming down much farther on his smaller frame than on Martin’s bulkier one. The sleeves were rolled up as well, just so the tips of Jon’s fingers could poke out. 

There was a kindling of warmth in Martin’s chest at the sight. it was almost snuffed out by the drowning water that seemed to take up most of his chest, but it persisted.

Jon put some plasters and some cooling cream on the puffy red burns on his and Martin’s fingers, and, since Martin couldn't ingest the cream, gave him a quick kiss where the tea had made his lips tingly and sore. 

It hurt but in a good way. 

His thought still felt tight and no matter how soft and caring Jon was, he couldn’t speak. He had always hated the way he couldn’t control the warble in his voice when he was close to tears. His mother had demanded he answer her question in her rage when she had been well enough. He’s been scolded for staying quiet because he could bring himself to speak. 

He could tell Jon had Seen the memory because the slight upturn of his lips immediately fell after the memory flitted through his mind. 

“We should talk about this-” Jon started but Martin interrupted him with a shaky inhale.

“but we don't have to do it right now.” he continued as he fumbled for Martin’s hand under the pile of blankets. 

The squeeze that sent warmth spreading up Martin’s arm was a lifeline. It was never more apparent that Martin seemed to be sinking out of his body until Jon touched him. Half of the time the thought he’d disappear entirely until Jon’s warmth would remind him he was corporal again. 

The sad in silence that should have been comfortable, but Martin found himself squirming under Jon’s intense eyes. 

“Come’ ere” The Archivist grunted as he made his way under Martin’s blankets. Jon hadn’t seemed like someone who enjoyed physical contact at first, but he had a habit fo showing his fondness through actions not words. 

Jon sighs deeply as he manages to lean into Martin’s side.“I don't know about you but im shattered.” 

There’s a disgustingly set sound as Martin clears his throat and they both cringe. “Thought y’said y’don't sleep.”

His boss, probably former boss now, gives a sharp chuckle at that. For christ’s sake nothing is ever soft about Jon, not to mention his elbows. 

“Just because I don't need tea doesn’t mean I don't want it.”

“You always need tea,” Martin finally feels like both his physical body and his ‘spiritual’ body join into one person. He feels empty and gaping, still partially like he’s drowning, but he’s whole.

“Suppose I do,” Jon muses. His fingers wander to Martin’s hair and his fingers hesitantly brush through Martin’s hair. It’s greasy and tangled now, his curls long gone flat from all the oil in his hair. Jon doesn’t seem to mind as his fingers find a slow rhythm. 

With Jon’s warmth and the space heater, he feels like he can finally drift off into sleep without the icy hand creeping up behind him to snatch him away. It’s not a permanent fix. They do need to talk about this, but its a solution for the current time.

And deep down, under the remaining ache of The Lonely, Martin knows Jon would destroy all the entities to get to him if he were to disappear again.

Perhaps that shouldn’t be as comforting as it is, but it makes Martin feel safe enough to drop off and sink deeper into Jon’s warmth.


End file.
